Something Dangerous (Spoils of Time 02) (21 page)

‘That’s such an amazing story,’ said Abbie.

‘Isn’t it? So Barty and I are very best friends. Only I’ve always had to share her with Giles, of course.’

‘With Giles? Yes, he certainly seems rather – keen on her,’ said Abbie laughing.

‘American Maud is sure he’s in love with her.’

‘Really?’ said LM mildly.

There was a ring at the door: a loud voice in the hall. Boy’s voice. What on earth was he doing here, Barty wondered. She felt upset. LM and Jay were one thing to present Abbie with, Boy Warwick in all his decadence quite another.

‘Boy!’ said LM, standing up, kissing him. ‘How nice. To what do we owe this honour?’

‘Venetia’s found some new children’s books she likes. She wants you to see them, LM. I was passing on my way to my club and said I’d drop them in. Jay, old chap, good to see you. How’s school this term? Hallo, Kit, hallo, Barty. And now – you’re not Abbie, are you? My word, I’ve struck gold this evening. I’ve heard about you.’

‘Have you indeed?’ said Abbie laughing. ‘And what have you heard?’

Barty looked at her sharply. She didn’t sound quite her usual self; her voice had taken on an odd tone. Barty would have called it flirtatious if she hadn’t known that was out of the question.

‘Oh – now let me see . . .’ He took a glass of wine from Gordon, raised it round the table, stopped at Abbie. ‘Well, that you’re fearsomely clever, of course. That you have very interesting parents. And ambitions to be headmistress of Eton—’

‘Not quite,’ said Abbie, ‘although it’s an intriguing idea. All those delicious little boys.’ She smiled at him: a slow, rather sleepy smile.

Abbie, thought Barty, for heaven’s sake. Don’t do this to me.

‘But no,’ she said, ‘it’s a girls’ school I’ve got my sights on. Not one of the posh ones, a good grammar, so I can get them young and open their horizons. See them all growing up into successes.’

‘It sounds admirable. I’m full of admiration. And where do you teach at the moment?’

‘It’s called Edge Street Elementary, in Brixton,’ said Abbie laughing, ‘and not too much like a girls’ grammar.’

‘I would say as important. That’s where the little girls will discover they want to go to a grammar school. Start working for the scholarship.’

‘I’m surprised you know about the scholarship,’ said Abbie.

‘Oh, my knowledge of education doesn’t stop at our great public schools. My father heads up a big charitable foundation. Giving children from poor families at least a start, offering bursaries and so on.’

‘Really?’ said Barty. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘Ah, we’re not entirely dissolute, we Warwicks, Barty, although I know you like to think so.’

He smiled at her, then returned his attention to Abbie. She was sitting looking at him, chin on her hands, her large green eyes very brilliant. ‘If you wanted me to put in a word for your school, as an outlet for a bursary,’ he said, ‘just let me know. My father is very open to suggestions. I mean it.’ He smiled at her; he likes her, thought Barty, and he finds her attractive. He always did like clever women, of course; Celia often said so. Implying somehow that Venetia wasn’t clever.

‘Well – I don’t know what to say. I’ve only been there five minutes. It’s terribly kind of you. Perhaps – perhaps I could get back to you.’

‘Please do. Barty will tell you where I am. Or – here. My card.’

‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’

‘Well,’ he drained his glass, ‘better go. Venetia will have a great deal to say if I’m much longer.’

A likely story, Barty thought, as if he cared in the very least what Venetia said.

‘So – goodnight. Lovely to see you all. And it was – extremely good to meet you,’ he said to Abbie.

She said nothing, just smiled at him; the new, sleepy smile.

There was a silence after he’d gone; then Abbie said, ‘He was quite different from how I’d imagined.’

‘He is extremely charming,’ said LM. ‘Even I can’t help liking him.’

‘He certainly is,’ said Abbie, and then clearly anxious to change the subject, said, ‘Your family is full of charming males. Look at Sebastian.’

‘Not exactly family,’ said LM, ‘but—’

‘He’s an honorary Lytton, Barty said so. And I think it’s wonderful the way he matches the books. He’s an extraordinary and powerful creature himself. I was so afraid he’d turn out to be some puny little man and he’s so – well, so beautiful, it’s the only word for him, and so immensely charming too. His own personality is quite magical, I think.’

She looked at LM and smiled suddenly. ‘You don’t like him?’

LM looked back at her, her dark eyes very serious suddenly. There was a silence, then, ‘I like him very much,’ she said briefly, ‘but you mustn’t let yourself be carried away by him, Abbie. It happens rather easily, I’m afraid. His charm, as you so correctly say, is immense.’

‘Did Mrs Robinson have a crush on Sebastian, or something?’ said Abbie as they drove home in Barty’s small car. ‘She seems to feel rather – strongly about him.’

‘LM? Oh, goodness no. He’s not the sort of person she’d have a crush on.’ Barty’s voice was slightly cool; she was still shocked at the intellectual, free-thinking Abbie’s swift conversion to practised flirt.

‘She seemed a bit – emotionally charged about him.’

‘Well – probably I shouldn’t be telling you this, it’s Gordon’s wine talking, but I’ve sometimes thought that – well, that Aunt Celia and he were rather fond of each other. Long ago, of course. And I suppose being Wol’s sister LM disapproved.’

‘Why ever do you say that? About Celia and Sebastian, I mean.’

‘Oh – I don’t know. It’s really hard to define. But she was – different when he was there.’

‘What sort of different?’

‘Softer. Happier. Less difficult. Like I say, I can’t define it. But when I was growing up, I did notice – something. And he was at the house a lot. Grown-ups always think children don’t notice these things, but they do, just because they’re there, with not much to do, a lot of the time.’

‘Heavens! How exciting. Did you talk to Giles about it?’

‘No, of course not. There was nothing to talk about. Anyway, she’s his mother, it would have upset him dreadfully, even the very idea. He adores her. In spite of the fact he can’t do anything right for her.’

There was a silence; then Abbie said, ‘I thought Boy Warwick was just – wonderful. Truly the most attractive man I’ve met for ages.’

‘That was fairly obvious,’ said Barty.

‘Was it? Oh dear. Barty, don’t be cross.’

‘I’m not cross. Well, only that you couldn’t see through him.’

‘Nothing to do with being attractive,’ said Abbie firmly.

‘Maybe not. But he’s vile to poor Venetia.’

‘In what way vile?’

‘The usual way husbands are. He puts her down, doesn’t treat her with any proper respect.’

‘Maybe she doesn’t deserve it. Is he unfaithful to her?’

‘I – don’t know,’ said Barty, ‘but certainly I wouldn’t be surprised. He’s dreadful, Abbie, I really don’t like him.’

‘It’s his dreadfulness that makes him so attractive, I expect,’ said Abbie. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Barty, let’s change the subject. Tell me about Jay’s father. What was he like?’

‘I never met him.’

‘You never met him? Why ever not?’

‘Oh, Abbie, I don’t know. I was very little. And he was killed right at the beginning of the war.’

‘When you were – what? Seven? And he never came to the house? Sounds pretty rum to me.’

‘Abbie,’ said Barty, ‘when you know the Lyttons better, you’ll find they’re pretty rum altogether.’

The cramps were getting worse; Pandora looked at Sebastian, wondering if she should say anything. If she did it would be quite dreadful, he’d have the doctor, the midwife and half the London ambulance brigade in Primrose Hill within minutes. And then they’d all have to go home again, when it proved to be indigestion. On the other hand – she winced; maybe she should go to the lavatory. Maybe that would help.

She heaved herself forward, swung her legs slowly and painfully over the edge of the bed. He looked up, still half lost in his book.

‘All right, my darling?’

‘Yes, I’m fine. Really. I just want to move about a bit.’

She smiled at him, then stood up; damn, her nightdress felt slightly damp. Obviously she did need the lavatory. She glanced down, then felt a thud of clear, hideous terror.

‘Oh, dear God,’ she said, ‘oh, Sebastian. Oh my God.’

He looked up slowly, half amused, half concerned; ‘Darling, what—’ and then he saw it too, and went as white as the sheets upon which she had been lying. And on which was a large and brilliant stain of bright red blood.

He would never forget the next few hours; not as long as he lived nor into eternity.

The fear, the heart-gripping fear of his own; the terror in Pandora’s eyes, her struggle to remain calm; the cramps which turned swiftly to pain as they waited the seemingly endless ten minutes for the doctor to come; her intakes of breath turning to whimpers and then muffled moans as they travelled in the ambulance; her hand clinging to his as he ran beside her, as she was rushed on the trolley into the operating theatre; the sudden silence as the anaesthetic overtook her and she was taken away from him; the interminable wait then as he sat, head in hands, praying to a God he did not believe in for her survival; preparing himself for a life without her, the loss of the final, perfect love of his life; cursing the biology that had first created this unwelcome child and then its dreadful arrival in the world; longing for news, any news, of what was going on behind that door through which he had begged to be allowed to go, to stay with her; in that brilliantly lit world where life and death lurked hand in hand; and then the appearance finally of the surgeon in the doorway, his face unreadable, taut with strain and exhaustion, the endless silence before he spoke, and then the lifting of it all, the fear and the dread, as he said, ‘Mr Brooke, you have a daughter. And your wife is well and as comfortable as can be expected.’

CHAPTER 9

‘They are going to call the baby Isabella. Bella for short,’ said Celia, her voice was cool, ‘because she’s so – ’ she paused, clearly finding it difficult to finish the sentence, ‘ – so beautiful.’

‘Charming,’ said Oliver, ‘quite charming.’

‘I’m surprised you find it so. I thought it rather common myself.’

‘Well, as long as you don’t convey that thought to her parents. And how was she, the little one?’

‘Oh – like all babies. Ugly.’

‘My dear, none of our babies were ugly. The twins were positively beautiful.’

‘This baby is ugly. She will look just like Pandora. She has nothing of Sebastian about her, and no doubt she will be very pretty, but at the moment she is ugly.’

‘And Pandora?’

‘Oh, she’s very well. Considering what she has been through. Absurdly smug of course. Nobody ever had a baby before. And Sebastian is behaving in the most ridiculous way, taking no notice of the baby, just sitting clinging to Pandora’s hand as if she had been rescued from some terrible danger.’

‘Well, I suppose it might be said that she had,’ said Oliver mildly. ‘It has not been an easy pregnancy, as I understand it. Now, my dear, can we turn our minds to other matters? Such as publishing, for just a little while.’

‘I shall be extremely pleased to turn my mind to other matters,’ said Celia, ‘it’s only a baby after all.’

‘Sebastian’s wife has had a daughter, Beckenham.’

‘Who’s that, my dear? Who’s had a daughter?’

‘Pandora, Sebastian Brooke’s wife. You must remember her, she—’

‘Oh yes, of course I remember her. Pretty little thing. Lovely eyes. Well, that’s good news. Better if it was a boy, of course, but—’

‘Beckenham, not everyone has a title to pass down. And just as well Sebastian has not in my opinion. Anyway, Celia just telephoned with the news. I’m going to see her now.’

‘What, the baby?’

‘No, of course not. Celia.’

‘Why on earth do you need to see Celia, just because Sebastian’s wife’s had a baby?’

‘You wouldn’t understand, even if I tried to explain. So I shan’t. But I’ll be back for dinner.’

‘Thank you for your cable, Sebastian. What a wonderful relief for us all. So my daughter has had a daughter, and I’m a grandmother at last. I feel immortal. And so, no doubt, does she.’

‘Oh, Sebastian, it’s such lovely news. Adele and I are just so – so delighted and proud of you both. And girls are so much nicer than boys. Specially when they grow up. I do hope this new one of mine is a girl. Now, when can we come and see her? Tomorrow? Oh, good. Just say the time. And give her our best, our very best love till then.’

‘Abbie, Pandora’s had a little girl. Isn’t that lovely? And they’re both extremely well. After all that. I’m just so happy and so relieved. I’m allowed to go and see her later today, just for a few minutes. She’s very tired still, but Sebastian said as I’d done such a lot to help – absolute nonsense, of course, but still – I could. That’s why I’m home early, to get my car. I’ll send them both your love, shall I?’

‘Superb news from England, my darling. Pandora has given birth to a daughter. Both well. Calling her Isabella. Isabella Lily, after you. What do you think of that?’

‘I think it’s wonderful, Jack. As soon as this film is finished, let’s go home and see her.’

‘Fine by me.’

‘Kit, old chap, do you want to come and see Pandora with me tomorrow? Pandora and her little baby. Sebastian said you could come with me if you’d like it. We could go after school, I’ll get Daniels to bring you to the hospital, meet you there.’

‘Yes, all right, Giles, that would be nice. I wish it had been a boy, though. More fun for me.’

‘Daddy, there’s a cable from Adele. Pandora, you know, that lovely girl who’s married to Sebastian Brooke, she’s had an adorable baby girl.’

‘And how do you know she’s adorable, Maud?’

‘All babies are adorable. Oh, I’m so utterly delighted. They were quite worried about Pandora, you know. I must send a cable back. Goodness, excuse for another visit, do you think?’

‘Hardly, Maud. They’re not exactly family. And—’

‘I know, I know. Money’s not as plentiful as it was. I’m only teasing. But you’re wrong about one thing. Of course they’re family. Sebastian is part of Lyttons, everyone says so. Oh, it’s so exciting. I feel quite tearful about it all.’

‘She seems a dear little thing, Gordon. Not exactly beautiful of course, but quiet and good. And Pandora is well, that’s the main thing. And Sebastian is – well, I can’t quite describe how he looks. Isn’t it odd, the happiness babies bring with them?’

‘I can never remember being so happy. I never hoped to be so happy. Never. God has been too utterly good to me. Now, my darling, I want you to rest. Too many visitors by half, and I don’t care if Matron did say it was all right. You look exhausted. Very pale. I want you to lie still and hold my hand. I’m not going until you fall asleep. And probably not even then. I can’t bear to leave you. Now that I’ve got you back to myself again. Shut your eyes, darling, and just don’t think about anything at all. The baby’s right as rain, I’ve just been to visit her in the nursery. Let me give you a kiss. Sleep well, my darling. Thank you for being you.’

Celia was working late, when she heard the front door bell of Lytton House ring. She decided to ignore it. It couldn’t be anything important. Oliver was at a dinner and the rest of the staff had been gone for over an hour. She loved being alone in the building; she felt time to be entirely hers. And she needed time: a great deal of it. Lady Annabel’s biography of Charlotte and Emily Brontë was not as painstakingly researched as usual, requiring a lot of tactful and constructive editing. It wasn’t going to be an easy task.

The bell went again: and then again. She frowned. A delivery, no doubt, from one of the printers. They knew it was not really allowed, after five. Presumably the typesetters, trying to rush something through before the weekend. She had spoken to them about it before. It would do them good to find no one answering, to have to take the work back again. It might make them take her instructions more seriously.

Another long, insistent ring. Very intrusive. It seemed she would have to go down. She set aside her notes, and stood up, walked rather slowly down the corridor and into the reception hall. Another ring. Louder and still longer. It was too bad.

Perhaps it wasn’t the printers. Perhaps it was a telegram. Or a personal missive from Lady Annabel, who had sensed her displeasure. She had sent her maid with handwritten notes before. On one occasion, even flowers. Yes, perhaps that was it. Although the knock would have been timid, she felt, diffident; the poor girl was very put-upon. The chauffeur perhaps: yes, that was more likely.

She opened the door. It was not a messenger from the typesetters; nor was it a telegram boy, nor even Lady Annabel’s unfortunate maid or chauffeur. It was Sebastian. Standing there, very still, just staring at her. And not speaking; seemingly unable to speak.

‘Celia,’ he said finally, and his voice was strange, heavy, absolutely devoid of expression. ‘Celia, let me come in. Please. It’s Pandora. She’s – she’s dead.’